


Of Consequence

by veronamay



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e13 Dead Reckoning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for the 2x10-2x13 arc. John comes to a greater understanding of his role in the scheme of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Consequence

After enlisting Carter's help to relieve John of the bomb vest, Finch drove them to John's apartment. John didn't argue; he was content to go along with anything Finch wanted right then.

They were silent as they passed mostly quiet streets. Finch kept his eyes on the road and his thoughts to himself, and John simply sat and enjoyed the fact that he was still alive. He hadn't expected that. From the moment he looked up into Kara's face he'd figured his number was up. Sitting next to Finch right now felt like being at the top of the biggest rollercoaster in the world.

He trailed Finch inside his apartment building, up the stairs, and only stopped when they were inside with half a foot of reinforced steel between them and the world. The lights were off and the blinds drawn over the windows. Finch took off his overcoat and turned on the light next to the bed.

"Sit down," he said. "You look like you're about to keel over, and I don't fancy trying to catch you."

"I'm fine," John said reflexively. "It's just the adrenalin crash."

"And a jailyard beating, and an intensive three-day interrogation, and a car crash, and a highly volatile hostage situation, and a high-risk armed burglary before any of that," Finch pointed out. He crossed back to John and started herding him toward the sofa. "You've had a busy few days. I do keep track of these things, you know."

There was something odd in Finch's voice. John blinked and tried to pin it down, but now that the danger was past he was finding it surprisingly difficult to concentrate. "What were you doing on the rooftop?" he asked without thinking. "You weren't supposed to be anywhere near it."

"Don't be ridiculous." Finch leveled a look at John over his glasses that made John want to laugh. "Where else would I be? I wasn't going to just--let you _go_ that easily."

John frowned at that, and stopped his drifting under Finch's careful hands. That hadn't been the plan. Finch was supposed to be safe, always.

"That wasn't in the plan," he said aloud. "You shouldn't have been there. If Kara knew about you--if Mark knew, even--that would have gone very badly for you, Finch. You were supposed to cut me loose as soon as I got caught in the bank vault."

He watched with dazed interest as Finch took a slow, deep breath, and then another. It didn't seem to help him much. Finch stalked away, turned back and advanced on him, his gait stiffer than usual, with that pinched set to his mouth that meant he was furious and trying to keep a lid on it. John held his ground. Better to get it over with now, so Finch could storm out afterward and John could find a dark corner to lick all his wounds at once.

Then Finch started talking.

"No," he said, a verbal slap that made John rock back a little on his heels. "You don't get to do that. You don't drop into casual conversation the astonishing fact that you are _happy_ , as if it's meaningless, as if it's nothing for me to hear it, and then less than twenty-four hours later expect me to write you off like a--a bad investment."

His whole frame was vibrating with suppressed emotion. John was fascinated.

"It was the logical choice," he couldn't help pointing out. "I was compromised. We couldn't afford for both of us to be caught, and I'm replaceable. We'd had a good run, Finch. I never expected it to last."

"How dare you," Finch snapped. He stopped bare inches away and stood glaring up into John's face. "You were compromised because you deliberately ignored my explicit directions to get yourself out of harm's way. Your actions have consequences, Mr Reese. I thought you understood that, but evidently I was mistaken. Let me make things perfectly clear: the next time I give you an order to abort, I expect you to _do as you're told_."

"Next time?" John couldn't help himself; he startled just a fraction. He was pretty tired.

Finch's glare intensified. "Next time, and the time after that, and every time for as long as we pursue this particular line of work," he said. "I'm not naive enough to believe that such an order will never be necessary again. I expect total obedience in this, Mr Reese. If you'd left the bank when I told you to, you would never have ended up in Ms Stanton's hands."

"I know, I screwed up, but … they were a couple of kids trying to fix a bad situation," John explained, as if Finch didn't already know. "I couldn't just leave them. And Kara was dead, as far as I knew. As far as anyone knew."

"I'm not interested in your excuses," Finch said through clenched teeth. "I'm interested in making sure that you understand your role here, and its boundaries, so that this situation never arises again."

Okay, that was a little close to the line. "I'm not going to walk away from a situation every time you get nervous," John shot back. "I've got pretty good judgement, Finch. I may have started out as your employee, but given how far we've come since then I think I've earned a little more consideration from you."

That, somehow, seemed to make Finch even angrier. He leaned in close enough that John could feel his breath across his collarbone. It made his stomach go tight and hot. He put his hands on John's face. They were smooth and warm and shaking. John stood very still. He wondered if he'd fallen asleep without realising.

"Consideration," Finch hissed, "is the very _least_ of what you've earned, Mr Reese. You have become a large part of the reason why I get up in the morning. The work we do, the lives we save, the perpetrators we obstruct--it's important, and I have no intention of abandoning it, but I've come to a point where the thought of doing this without you is not only abohorrent, but almost impossible to contemplate."

Finch's hands slid up into his hair, stroking through it over and over. John's neck went loose and easy, bending into Finch's touch.

"I must know that you're as safe as I can keep you at all times. I'm aware that you're extremely capable and there's little I can do to ensure your physical wellbeing when you're in the field, but I will not stand for you believing that your life is an acceptable loss. I will not have you thinking that you can put yourself at risk unnecessarily without ramifications. You are precious to me, in all the ways you'd care to name, and I will not have you taking the easy way out--" and Finch's lip curled, saying those words, "--simply because you're under the impression that your death _doesn't matter_."

And then John realised where he'd gone wrong. He wasn't having this conversation with Finch. This was _Harold_ , stripped of all his assurances and masks, pared down to bare emotion; terror and outrage and simple avarice. John swayed with the impact of it. There was a lot to take in.

"Harold," he breathed. Everything made a lot more sense now. He darted a look at Harold's face and relaxed all at once when he saw it. There was no other shoe to drop here, no axe to fall.

"You're wrong, Mr Reese," Harold said; how did he do that? "I said there were consequences. You need to learn that you can't expect to sacrifice yourself and get away scot-free."

"It's all right, Harold." John smiled. He met Harold's eyes. "I get it. You've made your point, and I'm sorry." He wet his lips hopefully. "I won't do it again."

Harold narrowed his gaze. "I don't believe a word you say," he said. "Your refusal to accept your circumstances is a major issue, Mr Reese. I think we need to outline the terms and conditions of our arrangement down to the last detail."

"Okay," John agreed, still smiling. "How about this: the terms are, I belong to you for as long as we both want--which in my case will be until I'm dead--and the conditions are, the only time I put myself at risk is if it's to save your life."

That shut Harold up for a moment. John waited, calm now. The tightness in his belly had gone warm and sharp, and the lassitude in his muscles told him more than anything else that this was the right thing. Of course it was; when it came to John, Harold was always right.

Harold let him go and stepped back, circled him twice without speaking, hardly blinking; he came to a stop facing John and leaned in again.

"The only time you will put yourself at risk," he said, enunciating every word precisely, "is if there's no other way to save _your_ life, John. Do you understand?"

"That's unacceptable," John said. "Wasn't acceptable six months ago. It's even less acceptable now." He didn't flinch against Harold's glare. Some things weren't negotiable.

Harold stared back for a count of ten, and then sighed. "Impossible," he murmured, but something about him had softened, and John knew he'd won the point. "But I'm not that much of a hypocrite. I can appreciate your perspective."

"Okay, then." John shrugged. He felt light; free, for the first time in a decade. He missed the weight of Harold's hands. "So we've decided neither of us is expendable. Now what?"

"Now, John," Harold said, walking behind him and putting his hand back in John's hair, "is when things get really interesting."

He clenched his fingers and pulled, bringing John's head back sharply, and John wondered if he'd just made the best or worst mistake of his life.

END


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